


like rum on the fire

by grapehyasynth



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Best Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, In this fic they're American, M/M, POV Patrick Brewer, Pining, mentions of binge drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28018575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/pseuds/grapehyasynth
Summary: All semester, every time Patrick gets drunk, he’s drinking because of David.It’s less pathetic than it sounds, really. Each time he gets blindingly drunk, it’s with the hope that this time, he’ll let go enough to get his shit together and kiss David.Okay, maybe it’s still exactly as pathetic as it sounds.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 58
Kudos: 248





	like rum on the fire

**Author's Note:**

> This probably could've been a longer fic but this is the form it came to me in, pushing its way out of my fingertips as I tried to do other things this evening, in blatant, flippant disregard of my Ideas doc which goes unattended.
> 
> This is partially inspired by my own experience of starting to drink while studying abroad and hoping that getting drunk would give me the courage to kiss a specific person whom I never ended up kissing. I had a good time, I was with people who were looking out for me, and honestly it's all good memories, though yes I do wish I'd gotten a kiss lol.
> 
> Please drink responsibly!!!
> 
> Title from Cherry Wine by Hozier, though the lyrics of that song do NOT apply here
> 
> For the purposes of this fic they're American btw

All semester, every time Patrick gets drunk, he’s drinking because of David. 

It’s less pathetic than it sounds, really. Each time he gets blindingly drunk, it’s with the hope that this time, he’ll let go enough to get his shit together and kiss David. 

Okay, maybe it’s still exactly as pathetic as it sounds. 

He hadn’t factored this in, when they’d been discussing studying abroad together. Secretly loving David shouldn’t be any harder in Europe than it was back home. 

It is. It’s so much harder. Because they spend even more time together, between their language immersion classes and not knowing anyone and then making all the same friends and staying latched to each other through a parade of day trips and nightclubs and weekends in Prague and a beach week in Lisbon. 

They spend so much time together that everyone thinks they’re dating. It boggles Patrick’s mind, that anyone could look at David - who, no matter which city they go to, looks like a street fashion model just waiting for the photographer to begin; who gets mistaken for a resident pretty much everywhere they visit, he’s _just that chic_ \- and then look at Patrick and think, yeah, these two go together. 

He’s just lucky they got placed in different apartment buildings. He probably would’ve lost his mind if he had to see David stumble out to the kitchenette each morning, tousle-haired and sleepy-eyed and reaching out with grabby hands for Nutella and fresh rolls from the bakery around the corner. 

No, he doesn’t get to see that, but instead there’s David sunning himself in tiny swim trunks in Crete; there’s David getting danced up on by every third person in an exclusive club in Zagreb; there’s David rolling his eyes at the tacky tourist magnets Patrick buys in each new city; there’s David taking the magnets from Patrick at the end of each trip to stick on the refrigerator back in his flat. 

Potentially the biggest factor that Patrick hadn’t considered was that they’re of drinking age here. That obviously hadn’t stopped David or most of their friends back home, but it had always stopped Patrick. Here, they’re several years past the minimum, and Patrick tumbles into drinking with the fervor and dedication of a typical first year who’s never lived away from their parents before. 

David’s annoyingly considerate about it, checking in a million times on any night they go out to see if Patrick’s okay, offering to get him water or take a cab home with him. But that’s not the _point_. Patrick wants to _lose_ himself, _finally_. He progresses quickly from Smirnoff Ice to shots and little lime wedges and he just wants to feel his limbs go a little loose; he just wants to be able to dance up on David like all those anonymous people do; he wants David to look at him all dark and hot; he wants to kiss him up against a wall or go down on him in a bathroom. He wants to go back to David’s tiny student apartment with him so that they _both_ stumble into the kitchen the next morning, tousle-haired and sleepy-eyed, and they could bicker over the Nutella and play footsie under the table and then Patrick would climb into David’s lab in the chair and lick into his mouth until David’s Brazilian roommate interrupted them. 

None of this is new. It’s just the alcohol, and the hope it gives him, that’s new. He needs to be brave enough - brave enough to kiss David, but also brave enough to make sure David knows that this isn’t new, that it isn’t the alcohol, or not _just_ the alcohol, and that he wants this to transfer back to the other side of the Atlantic. This isn’t a want driven by the cobblestone streets and the gorgeous accents and the broody grey fall days. This is a want driven by how rude David had been to him when they’d met in Introductory Economics and how much Patrick has loved him ever since. 

It’s a month before they’re supposed to fly home and Patrick still hasn’t done it. He’s gotten drunk so many times - sometimes blisteringly so, sometimes to the point of not quite remembering things the next morning - but it still always feels like he needs a _sign_ from David. And David doesn’t give it to him. Well, Patrick’s heart wants to believe that every pursed smile and crooked eyebrow is a sign, but in the evenings, when he’s wasted and things are getting sloppy, all he sees is David having to care for him, again and again. He really hopes he hasn’t thrown up on David’s shoes, but he’s fairly sure David would have groused at him about it the next morning.

The whole exchange group from their university has thrown together an American Friendsgiving, and Patrick wanders over to the makeshift bar. It’s mostly cheap liquor and beer, since they’re still broke college students - most of them; David’s clutching his own bottle of something top shelf and “ _not sharing, Stevie!_ ” - who’ve put their savings towards being able to travel. It’ll get the job done. Or half the job, if you’re Patrick and nursing a desperate secret desire to act. 

“You’re never going to get David to kiss you if you keep doing that.” 

Patrick chokes on the shot he’s just downed and turns to Stevie with burning eyes. “W-what are you talking about?” 

Stevie looks up to the ceiling as if for strength and takes the shot glass from Patrick, refilling it and throwing back the new shot herself. “It’s the definition of insanity, Patrick. Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.” 

“I’m not-” He wonders if he’s confessed something to her, one of those nights he doesn’t remember. “I’m not expecting - what _result_ -” 

“Oh, so this time, when you’re blasted off your face, you _won’t_ try to kiss David?” 

“Try to k-” Patrick feels like all the blood has drained from his body. He’s glad he wasn’t holding the shot glass because he would’ve dropped it. “I’ve - I did that?” 

Stevie’s mouth rounds, and then she’s grinning. “You don’t remember?” 

“No, _fuck_ , no, Stevie, I don’t remember trying to kiss David. When was this?” Patrick hisses, glancing frantically at David, who’s still safely on the other side of the room. 

“Um, literally every other night for the last four months.” Stevie grabs a maraschino cherry and bites it off the stem, decapitating it as efficiently as she’s kneecapped his heart. 

Patrick suddenly feels nauseous, but not in the end-of-a-binge, room-spinning kind of way. He can’t believe the _one_ thing he’s been trying to do he’s apparently _been_ doing, just badly and unsuccessfully and only when he’s so far gone he can’t even remember it. “Would you excuse me?” he says faintly. 

Stevie calls something after him but he’s laser-focused on David, grateful now that he’d only had one shot. Grateful that he _had_ that shot, honestly, to take the edge off what he has to do now, but grateful that that’s all he had. He needs his wits to survive this conversation. 

David follows him away from the others, out onto Ted’s little balcony. It’s freezing, and David clutches his expensive alcohol to him like a child’s stuffed toy.

“So Stevie just told me something embarrassing,” Patrick chuckles, trying to set a friendly tone. They can still be friends after this, right? 

“Oh, doesn’t she always?” David waves his hand, entirely unsurprised. “She has no shame.” 

“No, I mean - embarrassing... about me.” He squints at David, hoping he’ll be put out of his misery, but David looks at him blankly. “Um, she said - she said I’ve been - drunkenly trying to kiss you all term?” 

David makes a noise like a squeak that he catches and covers with a cough. “Oh, _that_.” 

Patrick groans and covers his face with his hands. “David, why didn’t you _tell_ me?” 

“Because!” David says, and his voice is high and Patrick hates that he’s made him this uncomfortable. “Because you never mentioned it, and I eventually figured out that you didn’t remember it at all, and you probably wanted it to stay that way! Like you said, it’s embarrassing.” 

Something heavy settles behind Patrick’s ribcage. “Right,” he says hollowly. “Well, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. It’s - we all do things we regret when we’re drunk.” 

“You didn’t though, did you?” Patrick shoves his hands into his jeans, against the cold and against the fists that want to form, fists to channel the humiliation that’s gripping him. “Didn’t kiss me back, or anything.” 

“What? No!” David’s face twists, and it’s worse than Patrick had thought, how deeply David finds the idea of kissing him disgusting. “I wouldn’t do that. You think I’d do that, just because I’ve kissed, like, a thousand people-” 

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Patrick assures him, though he wishes David would, wishes David could give him an itemized list of all the ways Patrick isn’t good enough so he can set about fixing them. “I - I’m so embarrassed, David, I think I’m going to go home for the night, can we talk about this tomorrow, when we’re both-” 

“Patrick,” David says, urgently, grabbing Patrick’s arm as he goes to open the door back to the apartment. “I didn’t kiss you back because you’re my _friend_ , and you were _drunk_ , and I wouldn’t take advantage of you like that.” 

“Oh.” Patrick swallows. “Thank you. For...looking out for me.” 

David shrugs, a humble thing to match his shy smile. “I felt bad for denying you your dance floor makeout.” 

It sounds pathetic all over again, to hear it said that way, to know that David saw him at his horniest and most basic. 

He turns to go again, but then he realizes - David thinks he just wanted a dance floor makeout.

“I want to kiss you when I’m sober,” he blurts out. 

The bottle slips out of David’s hands; Patrick catches it, but barely, and when he straightens up he’s closer to David than he’d been a moment before. 

“What?” David asks breathlessly. 

“I only - I only kept trying to - to attack you on the dance floor,” he manages, and David sputters out a little laugh, “because I wasn’t brave enough to kiss you sober. But I want to. All the time. I have for ages.” There, he’s said it. It’s far less embarrassing than finding out what his blackout alter ego has been up to for months, and if David put up with _that_ , they can probably find a way through this. 

“Oh.” David’s mouth works soundlessly for a few seconds. “Um.” His brows furrow. Honestly, if Patrick’s happiness weren’t hanging on every microexpression, he’d find the facial acrobatics amusing. Okay, he still does; he really loves David. “And - are you?” 

“Am I - am I what?” 

“Are you sober?” 

Patrick’s chest feels like it’s being wrenched open as his heart tries to scramble out. “I - I had one shot, but that’s - that’s all, and with the tolerance I’ve built up these last few months, that’s basically nothing-” 

And then it’s a good thing David had dropped the bottle, because it means his hands are free to take Patrick’s face and bring them together. David kisses him, slow but deep, and when Patrick transfers the bottle to one hand and brings the other up to cup David’s jaw, his knees nearly buckle at the feeling of David’s expressive muscles working now in concert to kiss _him_.

When David pulls back, he drops his hands to Patrick’s collar, keeping him tugged close. His eyes linger on Patrick’s lips before he glances up, meeting Patrick’s gaze, which he’s sure is stunned. “Just for the record, I’m not _opposed_ to dance floor makeouts, and it was sometimes _very_ difficult to resist giving in to you, because you’re a very cute and very flirty and very persuasive drunk. But, um. I like this too.” 

“I like this too, too,” Patrick whispers, and he tilts his head up for more. 

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes i DID begin my alcohol consumption journey with Smirnoff Ice


End file.
